r?" he says, entreatingly,
going up to her and laying his hand upon her shoulder. "It is of this,
partly, I wish to speak to you. You will find this house lonely and
uncomfortable (though doubtless pleasanter) when I am gone. Let me
write to my aunt, Lady Monckton. She will be very glad to have you for
a time."

"No; I shall stay here. Where are you going?"

"I hardly know; and I do not care at all."

"How long will you be away?"

"How can I answer that question either? There is nothing to bring me
home."

"How soon do you go?" Her voice all through is utterly without
expression, or emotion of any kind.

"Immediately," he answers, curtly. "Are you in such a hurry to be rid
of me? Be satisfied, then: I start to-morrow." Then, after an unbroken
pause, in which even her breathing cannot be heard, he says, in a
curious voice, "I suppose there will be no occasion for me to write to
you while I am away?"

She does not answer directly. She would have given half her life to be
able to say, freely, "Write to me, Dorian, if only a bare line, now
and then, to tell me you are alive;" but pride forbids her.

"None, whatever," she says, coldly, after her struggle with her inner
self. "I dare say I shall hear all I care to hear from Clarissa or Sir
James."

There is a long silence. Georgie's eyes are fixed dreamily upon the
sparkling coals. His eyes are fixed on her. What a child she looks in
her azure gown, with her yellow hair falling in thick masses over her
shoulders. So white, so fair, so cruelly cold! Has she no heart, that
she can stand in that calm, thoughtful attitude, while his heart is
slowly breaking?

She has destroyed all his happy life, this "amber witch," with her
loveliness, and her pure girlish face, and her bitter indifference;
and yet his love for her at this moment is stronger, perhaps, than it
has ever been. He is leaving her. Shall he ever see her again?

Something at this moment overmasters him. Moving a step nearer to her,
he suddenly catches her in his arms, and, holding her close to his
heart, presses kisses (unforbidden) upon her lips and cheek and brow.

In another instant she has recovered herself, and, placing her hands
against his chest, frees herself, by a quick gesture, from his
embrace.

"Was that how you used to kiss _her_?" she says, in a choked voice,
her face the color of death. "Let me go: your touch is contamination."

Almost before the last word has passed her lips, he relea